“Laney?”
“It’s fine. Really.” And I am fine, because I need this. I need to know that I’m still alive, and what better way than giving myself one hell of an adrenaline rush? She grips my hand in hers, but I refuse to take my eyes off the road because I know that if I look at her, I’ll lose it. I’ll start bawling like a damn baby, and right now I don’t want to cry. I want to be excited about this new adventure that I’m going to take myself on.
“I’m so sorry,” she says.
“I know. It’s okay, really. I promise I’m not mad.” I glance in her direction, and I can tell by her guilt-ridden eyes that she doesn’t believe me. “Mia, this will be good for me. I think making a bucket list is a great idea.” A couple of tears drip past her lashes and trickle down her face but I blink hard, focusing my attention back on the road. There is no sense in getting upset. This is my reality. Mia squeezes my hand a little tighter before I pull it from her grasp.
Thankfully, traffic has started moving and when I see the sign for my
exit, I signal right and follow the ramp. Weaving through the city, I listen contentedly as Mia points out different shops and restaurants as we pass them, and each time she names something familiar it makes me realize how homesick I’ve really been.
I turn left down a one-way street, hoping that Mia doesn’t catch on to the change in scenery. “Um . . . Lane?” Dang it. I knew she’d notice. I had no doubt she would’ve said something as soon as we pulled up in front of the line of houses, but I was hoping to put this argument off for a few more minutes.
“Yeah?” I ask absently, pretending that I’m concentrating on where I’m going.
“Where the fuck are you going?”
“Language,” I scold.
Mia clutches her purse to her body. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her chewing on the inside of her mouth and I feel sort of bad for not being completely truthful with her about my living arrangements. “Seriously, Lane, turn around. This place doesn’t seem very safe.”
Mia was raised in a gated community with a silver spoon in her mouth, so the sight of run-down buildings and not-so-clean people walking the streets is freaking her the hell out. I’m not going to lie, I’m a little freaked out myself, but this doesn’t affect me quite as much as her because I was raised in a similar neighborhood. After my mom passed away, my dad ended up in foreclosure on my childhood home. Money was tight and we ended up in the ‘bad’ part of town, where drug dealers were arrested on a daily basis and the sound of gunshots would often wake me up at night. I have absolutely no idea how Luke and I made it out alive, but we did. You learn quickly how to survive. You keep your head down, don’t talk to anyone unless you have to, and when it’s absolutely necessary, you suck up . . . to the right people.
My ‘suck up’ was in the form of food for protection. There was a young man, Benny, who lived in the apartment next to ours. His mom was a junkie and oftentimes he would go days without eating. Benny was an attractive boy of Latino descent. He was tall and strong with a hard face that most people found intimidating, despite his young age.
Once, Luke and I were being pushed around by some older kids at the bus stop and Benny stepped in to save us. That night I sat outside of my apartment with a container of ramen noodles and waited for him to come out of his home. Two hours later he finally came out, and it was there, on a shredded welcome mat between two apartment doors, that I first offered Benny food in exchange for protection.
“Don’t worry, Mia. I’ve got it covered.” I pull over in front of a small brick shotgun house and double-check the number on the mailbox with the number I have written down. “This is it.” Stuffing my phone in my pocket, I reach in the center console and grab my can of Mace, shaking it several times to make sure it’s still full.
“What the hell is that?”
Turning in my seat, I look at a pale-faced Mia. I can’t help but giggle at the look of horror in her eyes. “It’s Mace.” I wiggle the can in front of her face and a hysterical burst of laughter rips from her lips as she runs a shaky hand through her hair.
“Well, no shit, Sherlock. What concerns me is that we need it . . . why the hell do we need it, Lane? Let’s just go.” Her frantic eyes are pleading with me to start the car and drive away, but I can’t. What Mia doesn’t know is that I don’t need her to help me find a place to live—thanks to Benny, I’ve already found one. I’m not a complete bitch so I do feel bad that I led her to believe we would be doing some house-hunting. But my idea of house-hunting and Mia’s idea of house-hunting are way different. Although she has been my best friend for the past several years, there are still quite a few things Mia doesn’t know about me—about my life. For instance, she doesn’t know that the man peering in through her window is not a thug, but my new neighbor and a huge teddy bear.
The gentle giant taps twice on the window and I watch in slow motion as Mia turns around in her seat, taking in the man standing outside of the car.
“Ohmigod,” she squeals, whipping back around, pinning me with terrified eyes. “Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod. Please. Please move. Go, Lane. Please.” I wish I had the strength to compose myself, but I don’t. I can’t help the giggle that bubbles up from my throat, or the way I push her hand away when she tries to start my car. I’m a horrible friend—well, not really, but I’m sure she thinks so right about now. Pushing open my door, I slide from the car. I effectively mute her pleading screams as I close the door and then run at full force into a set of strong, waiting arms. Arms that I’d grown to love over the years. Arms that I trust and miss.
“BENNY!” MY BODY SLAMS into his hard chest and he doesn’t waste any time gathering me to him. Benny has never been an affectionate person—he’s more a fighter than a lover—but I learned early on that it’s only because he was never really loved. No one took the time to show him affection. I inhale deeply, reveling in my first taste of home. “I missed you,” I mumble, my face smashed in the crook of his neck.
“Christ, Laney, it’s so good to see you.” His rough voice is thick with emotion and I squeeze him a little bit tighter, thankful that we’ve kept in touch over the years.
“Me?” I pull back to look at his face, but he doesn’t put me down. “It’s good to see you. Look at you, Benny.” His grip loosens and I drop to the sidewalk, my eyes roaming his body, taking him in. “You’re such a handsome devil”—he flushes and I nudge his arm—“but that’s nothing new.” He glances down, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. I embarrassed him. His eyes shift to my car and he jerks his thumb.
Mia is watching us, but I can tell her eyes aren’t on me. Her bottom lip is tucked between her teeth, her telltale sign that she’s found something she likes. She’s sizing Benny up, probably trying to decide if she should jump him or run away. Mia has always been able to get whatever man she wants. With her golden blond hair, ice blue eyes and killer curves, she’s never had to ask and she sure as hell has never had to beg.
I shift my gaze and find Benny staring back at her with a look of confusion, most likely because seconds ago Mia was ready to bolt just at the sight of him. Not that I can blame her . . . Benny is nothing less than intimidating. He also happens to be incredibly good-looking. Every inch of his six-foot-three frame is a chiseled mass of muscle, and a majority of those muscles are decorated in every tattoo imaginable. But if you can look past the bright colors and bulging biceps, Benny is nothing more than a beautiful soul who was dealt a shitty hand.
His head is cocked to the side, brows furrowed, as Mia’s wandering gaze roams up his body and back down before she catches my eye. Her eyes widen in embarrassment, no doubt because I caught her ogling, and I can practically hear her huff before she crosses her arms over her chest and turns in her seat. I slap Benny’s arm and he shakes his head as though I just pulled him from a trance. I have no idea what in the hell is going on here, but if I get a vote, I think she should jump him. Benny might be a little rough around the edges, but he had a difficult childhood and an even harder start to adulthood. The guy could use a good woman to ruffle his feathers a little bit.
He looks at me for a beat and then shifts his attention back to the car. “I should probably go apologize to Cinderella.” I snicker, knowing that not only does that nickname fit Mia to a T but also how much she would utterly despise it. Waving my hand in the direction of my car and the seething woman inside it, I give him my permission to go right ahead. He saunters across the sidewalk and I turn to look at my new home.
Home.
Eagerly, I make my way up the sidewalk. Black faded shutters frame the windows, paint is chipping from the front door, and when I reach for the knob, it wiggles loosely in my hand. But all of that is superficial. Unlike me, all of that can be fixed. Pushing open the heavy door, I walk in and smile at the sight that greets me. Dark hardwood floors as far as I can see are scuffed and worn, but I smile because it’s a testament to how much this house has truly been ‘lived’ in. Someone, most likely Luke or Benny, has polished the tattered wood to near perfection and a soft blu
e rug sits in the middle of the living room.